My friend tree
I sawed you down
but I must attend
an older friend
the sun
You are my friend —
you bring me peaches
and the high bush cranberry
you carry
my fishpole
you water my worms
you patch my boot
with your mending kit
nothing in it
but my hand
Paul
when the leaves
fall
from their stems
that lie thick
on the walk
in the light
of the full note
the moon
playing
to leaves
when they leave
the little
thin things
Paul
I knew a clean man
but he was not for me.
Now I sew green aprons
over covered seats. He
wades the muddy water fishing,
falls in, dries his last pay-check
in the sun, smooths it out
in Leaves of Grass. He's
the one for me.
Remember my little granite pail?
The handle of it was blue.
Think what's got away in my life —
Was enough to carry me thru.
_________________________________
Lorine Niedecker
from The Granite Pail
Gnomon Press, 1995
reprinted by permission of Bob Arnold
Literary Executor for the estate of Lorine Niedecker
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LORINE
photograph above:
Lorine Niedecker playing the ukelele near the Rock River as a young woman.
